She'd come.
I pressed the button to grant her access, then positioned myself at the window, back to the elevator doors.
A small power play, perhaps, but one that would allow me to collect myself before facing her.
The elevator's soft ping announced her arrival. I didn't turn immediately, listening to the whisper of the doors opening, the hesitant click of heels on hardwood, the silence as she took in her surroundings.
"Impressive view," she said finally.
Her voice was steady, betraying none of the nervousness I'd glimpsed on the security monitor.
I turned then, and the sight of her stole my carefully prepared greeting.
She wore a simple black dress that skimmed her curves without flaunting them, her hair loose around her shoulders rather than in the severe knot she'd worn at our business lunch.
But it was her expression that caught me—a mixture of defiance and vulnerability that sent heat coursing through me.
"The benefit of being first to develop in this neighborhood," I said, moving toward her with deliberate calm. "I had my choice of views."
"Of course you did." A slight smile played at her lips.
"I imagine Lucas Turner always gets his choice of everything."
"Not everything," I countered, stopping before her. Close enough to catch her scent—jasmine again, with something deeper beneath it.
"Some things are worth waiting for. Worth earning."
Her eyes met mine, that direct gaze I'd found so compelling from the first moment. "Is that what this is? You earning something?"
"This," I said, deliberately not touching her though every cell in my body demanded it, "is whatever we choose to make it. Nothing more, nothing less."
"So formal," she observed, glancing around the living room.
"So controlled. Is this how you seduce all your conquests, Lucas? Expensive whiskey and philosophical pronouncements?"
The challenge in her voice stirred something primal in me. "I told you before—you're not a conquest."
"Then what am I?" She moved past me, trailing her fingers along the back of a leather sofa. "A complication? A forbidden indulgence? Your son's leftovers?"
I caught her wrist, my control slipping at her deliberate provocation.
"Don't."
She didn't pull away, her pulse racing beneath my thumb.
"Don't what? Speak the truth? Acknowledge what this is?"
"You have no idea what this is," I said, my voice dropping.
"What you are to me."
"Then tell me." She stepped closer, closing the distance between us until I could feel the heat of her body.
"Or better yet, show me."
The invitation hung between us, charged with everything we'd been denying since that night at the wedding.
I released her wrist, my hand sliding up her arm to cup her face.
